Page 17 of The Crush of Christmas Past
“He and I have alongerone,” I shoot back. The only thing that could make me seem more childish would be sticking out my tongue at him.
“I’m just—” He blows out a sharp breath. “My hopeless romantic of a brother even managed to get his hands on a ring.”
“You’re worried about him,” I say, softening.
Honestly, so am I—hence this entire stupid agreement. It hasn’t escaped my notice that Asher is burying his wounded feelings beneath a mountain of jokes and laughter, hoping no one picks up on how good he’s become at fakingfinewhen he’s so far from it.
“Not just him. You’re no one’s rebound, Isla. You’re—”
“A grown-ass adult,” I remind him. “Who can make her own choices in life. I don’t need relationship advice from you.”
Especiallynot from him.
Six years ago, I’d stupidly let myself be deceived by his attention. The guidance, comfort, and kindness he showed me tricked me into wanting something that could never be mine.
I’mnotmaking that mistake again.
To crush the feeling, I do the only logical thing and pop the rest of the cookie between my lips.
The move has Theo’s focus snapping to my mouth. Tension ripples through his forearms and his hands tighten at his sides.
I’m immediately transfixed.
Those hands have always struck me as…intentional.
Skilled.
All-consuming.
I’ve spent more time than I’d like to admit imagining what his touch might feel like if it went beyond the occasional accidental brush.
Tender enough to have me begging? Or so brutal it singes?
In my fantasies, I’ve gotten off to both.
As if getting a glimpse into my mind, Theo fists his hands and shoves them deep into the pockets of his sweatpants. He takes a step back, severing the connection between us, and my heart squeezes.
As much as I hate to admit it, I don’t want him to retreat. I want him to stay tangled in this uncomfortable, fragile moment with me.
To step forward, close the distance, and—
“You should get some sleep,” he orders, voice bruised by roughness.
“Agreed.”
I’m clearly not thinking straight.
I will my feet to move, triggering the lights on my socks. “Good night, Theo.”
“Night, Isla,” he says with the faintest of nods.
As I rush out of the room, his gaze sears my back.
I tell myself it means nothing, but somewhere deep inside, hope stirs. It’s a dangerous, unbidden thing I have no business indulging.
My heart promises to snuff it out by morning.
As long as I let it linger tonight.
